Confessions:3

(From Fenrir no.3, yf 99)

To say the elegant lady who surprised me burgling her fifth floor apartment seduced me is only half the truth. I was very willingly seduced.

Next morning, introductions over, she said she had asked her Prince to bring her a companion. She served the Prince of Darkness – in her own way, without formality or groups. She knew little of what I up till then regarded as traditional magick – the qabalistic kind. Instead, her own tradition was different, and possibly unique. She was a dark sorceress, a modern more subtle Juliette (de Sade variety not Shakespeare) – a binder of men, through the implements of her body and eyes.

Quite naturally, we became partners, she finding a sexual thrill in house violation (and sometimes not easily satisfied during a difficult job) and I finding through her new skills in magick – and sex of course. We spent a few months together, one cold but often sunny winter many years ago.

Then I made my mistake – I fell in love with her, and asked her to marry me. That night she said very little – except with her body. But in the morning she had gone – to America, leaving me a note. And I thought I understood women.

I tried to find her, without success and, feeling a little depressed for the first time in my life, made a vow, left the city and got a job. Yes, the Civil Service. I always did go to extremes. The job cured my depression – two weeks after I had started I went out for my lunch break and did not go back, sad to lose my new umbrella since it rained that afternoon. But the two weeks of desk-bound soul-destroying toil had proved useful in one way – I met someone with an interest in magick whose wife was very pretty. I kept in contact and it was not long before I did the first ritual in their house. They were being annoyed by their neighbours and I sent a force to spread fear and anxiety. A week later, the neighbours announced they were to move. This impressed my friends, and that night I initiated the wife (sexually of course) who some days later initiated her husband. They converted one of their rooms into a Satanic Temple on my instructions, and I made the wife my Priestess.

Gradually, our group grew in size, and I soon found myself running a Temple of over a dozen. Our magick was black, and successful – who needed crime? I was given gifts, loaned a flat, met many interesting and attractive women, and for many months this life continued until one evening, after conducting a ritual of Initiation, I realized I was now playing the role that years ago I had despised when I was played by the High Priest of the group of my own Initiation. I was excercising the same control that he had and was relating the same fables to enhance my own charisma and that of the group.

Unsatisfied, I began to involve myself with violence. Violence purified, and I took to roaming the streets with some young ruffians whose services I had used on occasion to make a new members’ test of fidelity to the Temple interesting.

Our small group had a cause and we, as a modern tribe, had many enemies so fights were easy to come by. There was joy in these battles, in their planning: an explosion of vitality. Life was raw and real and exciting, and this physical expression complemented my magickal life.

Then, one fateful warm summer’s evening after a minor skirmish, we were suddenly surrounded by van load of police. Arrested, charged, imprisoned on remand to be finally sent to jail. This proved an interesting experience and I would recommend it to all who aspire to be Adepts – once only if you’re feeble of spirit. About six months at a time is about right. You certainly – if you have any intelligence and spirit – find what is really important to you. Anyway, I left prison with more money than I entered, having run a profitable racket inside selling tea stolen from the stores (this was in the days before drugs became used in such places).

I had not known, really, what freedom was until I had lost my own. My priestess and priest were glad to see me – they had kept a group of sorts going and my first free evening coincided with a dinner they were holding for two prospective members, a man and his wife. To cut a short story short after the meal the wife excused herself to use the toilet, I followed and we made ecstatic love on the bathroom floor. Well, it had been a long time, and her eyes were very inviting. I came down, talked to her husband about magick and his only comment was: “I don’t know, but I don’t trust nor like you.” Stupid drongo. What could I say? Later, the priestess came to my bed.

Life could have resumed as before: but who wants to live in their own past? And I no longer wanted to play the role/game of ‘master’ despite some of its attractions. Prison had given me a new perspective and I wanted to live, really really live, on the edge. Satanism had become for me at that time a philosophy I lived by – kill others before they kill you, but always be honourable (this part is where the toy Satanists fail) and die rather than submit to anyone.

I wanted a cause to enable me to live this. So I found a war somewhere. It was not a large war, and was mostly of the guerilla kind. It became good – being close to death: the moments between were transformed and enjoyed all the more. There was a purity about living this way with constantdanger that weaklings will never understand. Satanism despises cowards – it has always been the way of the warrior. And I do not mean the pathetic kind that modern trendies speak about (e.g. ‘chaos warriors’). I mean the kind who really kills and whose hands have been stained by gore and blood.

My life became a kind of constant invokation to the Prince of Darkness. Instinct and spirit were triumphant: as they are not in our present moronic society where excellence is decried and where calculation, cowardice and sub-humanity dominate. I learnt something very valuable about faith – that elitist faith called Satanism. It was that it is essentially about self-excellence – defying the odds – and not, as most assume, about being material. It meant setting yourself goals beyond the ordinary, and achieving them, of living with style.

This learning cost me dear – I was injured, and forced to retire from the war. Even today, the effects of the injury linger, as do the effects of what I discovered about myself and women and the world. I passed the Abyss. But it is not for me to explain, here, what lies beyond the Abyss except to say that, personally, I think we can create an existence for ourselves after death. The key word is create. This existence is not given – it is not tied to any moral concept like ‘sin.’ It is a form of magick, indeed the highest and most secret form. This life is, if you will, a kind of opportunity which we only have have once but most people waste it. The Gate is there, but few see it and even fewer push the Gate open and follow the path beyond. The key is the ecstasy of existence that is all I will say about the genuine Stone of Philosophers, which can only be produced in the crucible of blackness (i.e. Satanism).

There is no real ending to my boring life – I returned to England, a little wiser, understanding the cosmic perspective beyond all ceremonial and results magick. This is the true understanding of the Master (and the Mistress of Earth) – their magick is and always has been Aeonic magick, that is, changing the world. Mostly, these individuals are hidden.

For now, I am half content – contentment should come only near death (if then). The moral of my waderings(if there is one) is; if you dare, learn by yourself by going to extremes; if you cannot do this because somehow you are still not free, then find someone who has gone that way before you and let them guideyou. Only guide you, mind. You should be guided only into experience – for experience is the fire that purifies and creates.

You may meet me, one day – but will not know me, unless I wish it. For many faces which I show to the world, and even those who professto be ‘adepts’ and ‘masters’ I can fool – because, unlike me, they are not natural. And , yes, in case you are wondering, I am human – having fallen in love while I lay injured and near death. Every Master needs a loving Mistress, after all herein are riddles which only the wise will see.